


The Rest is History

by ughfitz (wokemeup)



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: AUTHOR AU, Alternate Universe, Bones inspired AU, Cuddling & Snuggling, F/M, FitzSimmons Secret Santa, Friends to Lovers, Humanities Professors AU, Kidnapping, Kissing, Murder Mystery, Professors, Reporters, Stalking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-13 18:04:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9135307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wokemeup/pseuds/ughfitz
Summary: At the urging of the university she works at, Professor Jemma Simmons has agreed to work with SHIELD Magazine on an interview about her most recent novel. In an attempt to understand the “real” Jemma Simmons, reporter Leo Fitz has been granted the opportunity to shadow her and see how she writes such good murder mysteries. But as a series of eerily familiar crimes begin to pop up across town, Fitz and Simmons must work together to solve the mystery, catch the bad guy, and protect each other. As for their relationship...well that may be the biggest mystery they uncover.





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

  * For [recoveringrabbit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/recoveringrabbit/gifts).



> I am so excited to finally be able to share my gift with you, Rabbit! You're prompt has been so fun working with and I sincerely hope you enjoy this take on your prompt!
> 
> Prompt: Humanities professors AU  
> 'Bones' was a big inspiration for this fic!
> 
> \--
> 
> Thanks to [overworkedunderwhelmed](http://archiveofourown.org/users/overworkedunderwhelmed/pseuds/overworkedunderwhelmed) for not only being a great beta, but for helping me out with all of the forensic/science stuff. You're amazing!
> 
> Also, as usual, a millions thanks to [Elyssa/writeonthrough](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Schroederplayspiano/pseuds/Writeonthrough) for being the best cheerleader and friend a gal could ask for! You're the best!
> 
> Note: This chapter does contain mentions of kidnapping and stalking, but it's relatively brief.

Jemma Simmons liked things to be in order. She enjoyed stacking her books and papers neatly along the edge of her desk, freshly shaved pencils and unmarked eraser tops peeking out of the circular containers they were stored in.

 

But even more than that, she loved the fresh start of a new school year. There was something in the air that left her giddy with excitement, a buzz that lasted well into September. She enjoyed walking the long length of the campus sidewalk, the cement curving like a spine against the freshly mowed grass as the students idly sprawled across the lawn discussing the many wonders of the world.

 

She stepped into her office, her class not until later that afternoon. Smiling as she ran her hand over the dark wood, the newer material was a stark contrast to the older wood of the four walls that made up her office. She’d been in the room over the summer, of course, but with the start of the semester just hours away, she couldn’t help but feel like she was walking into the room for the first time.

 

Crossing the short distance from her door to the chair behind her desk, Jemma discarded her tea mug onto the top of the furniture and rummaged around her book bag for the little USB. Finally finding it, she pulled out the chair, along with her laptop from her bag, and set to work on any last minute edits she needed to make. Of course, there were none to be made; her excellent preparation allowed her some quiet time to herself before the real work of the semester began.

 

Mid sip, Jemma let out a quiet squeak when a strong knock came from the other side of her door. Glancing down at her wrist, she frowned in confusion. There were no scheduled appointments or anything else that should warrant her attention. Letting out a soft ‘come in,’ she sat up straighter and brushed back a loose strand of hair.

 

Poking her head inside of her office, Jemma’s confusion evaporated and a wide smile spread across her face. “Bobbi!” she exclaimed, “what brings you to this side of campus today?” The tall blonde woman pushed herself through the entry and gracefully as ever, sunk into the plush chair that sat opposite Jemma’s.

 

“What, Dr. Simmons, us peons over in criminal justice can’t venture over to chat with you witty English department folk?” she smirked, a sly wink escaping near the end.

 

“Oh, Bobbi, I missed you too,” Jemma smiled back, her nose scrunching in the unmistakable Jemma Simmons manner. “Tell me, tell me, tell me,” she rushed out excitedly, “how was London? Was it just as dreary as it’s always been, was the tea actually good?”

 

“Only you, Simmons, would ask about the dreary weather and tea.” They both laughed, their easy friendship falling back into piece as if one of them hadn’t been whisked away for nearly two months. “But, yes,” Bobbi said slyly as she looked up through her lashes, her mug full of coffee only partially hiding the blinding smile that hid behind it. “It was pretty great.”

 

“It was pretty great? Barbara Morse, if I didn’t know any better, I would almost say you were hiding something from me!”

 

“Okay, look, Jemma. You and I, I would venture to say, are pretty good friends. Best friends I might guess,” she looked over at Jemma, her right eyebrow raising slightly and a smile spreading across her face.

 

“Yes, mhm, go on,” Jemma bantered back.

 

“And as your best friend, I suppose it would only be natural to tell you that I met someone while I was busy teaching London’s best and brightest our brusque American crime fighting tactics.” Rolling her eyes slightly, Jemma looked towards Bobbi and challenged her to continue. “Lance,” she smiled brightly, her eyes clouding over slightly as she seemed to recall some fond memory. “Lance Hunter to be exact.”

 

“Lance Hunter!” Jemma exclaimed. “Lance Hunter as in my half-brother, Lance Hunter?” Her tone, while loud, was only mildly upset, the toothy grin spreading across her face lessening the severity of her upset look.

 

“I know, I know, I know” Bobbi smiled back at Jemma, her face still filled with guilt. “But it was by pure coincidence that of all the people to run into in London—it’s a big place—I run into your brother.”

 

“ _Half_ brother. And are you sure you two didn’t plan for this coincidence? Because you know, if you had,” she smirked back at her friend. “ I wouldn’t necessarily be upset. Just skip the sordid details for my sake.”

 

“Really?” Bobbi asked, relief already filling her.

 

“Of course,” Jemma replied. “You and Lance have been practically dating since the moment you two met. I love you both and I promise you that I am _not_ upset.”

 

Smiling over their cups of caffeine, they chatted back and forth for some time more before a knock interrupted their conversation and alerted them to a visitor.

 

“Come in,” Jemma called out. Pushing open the door, an older man stepped into the office and smiled kindly at both women.

 

“Ahh, Miss Morse, come to visit us boring folk over in the English department?” The older man asked.

 

Bobbi turned to Jemma and raised an eyebrow at her. “Exactly, Coulson,” she replied back to the visitor. Turning to look at Jemma, she winked and said, “We’ll catch up later.”

 

“Yes, we will!” Jemma called after her friend. Still smiling, Jemma turned and looked up at the man. “Ah, Dr. Coulson!”

 

“Do I want to know?” he asked, throwing a thumb towards the blonde leaving the office. Simply shaking her head, Jemma chuckled, the news from earlier still making her smile.

 

“Oh, no, just girl talk,” she replied. “So, Dr. Coulson, what can I do for you today?”

 

“Phil, you can call me Phil, Jemma.”

 

“I know, old habits die hard” she shrugged but smiled when he lightly rolled his eyes back at her. “So, _Phil_ ,” she exaggerated, “what brings you by today?”

 

“Ah, right. Jemma! I have some exciting news for you.” While he was kind and she most definitely looked up to him, ‘exciting news’ from Phil Coulson was always anything but exciting. Usually it involved loads of paperwork, not that Jemma minded per se, and a round of fake smiles and schmoozing it up at fancy dinner parties. The sparkle in his eyes and the excitement bouncing off of him only made Jemma more weary.

 

“Oh, Coul--Phil, what do you have planned now?” As the head of the English department at the university, new opportunities could range anywhere from new courses to teach to funding coming through. What Phil Coulson was about to tell Dr. Jemma Simmons, connoisseur English professor and author extraordinaire, was _not_ what she was expecting.

 

“Jemma, how do you feel about reporters?”

 

\---

 

Rushing to make it to her class on time, something Jemma hated to be doing on the first day of classes, she grumbled out a small apology at her near run-in with a wayward student. Her mind was so busy going over what Coulson had proposed, she felt far too frazzled to be starting her lecture. Nevertheless, Jemma Simmons was a professional, and as soon as she stepped into the large room, she took a moment to collect her thoughts, and walked as confidently as she could muster to the front of the room.

 

Pulling out the stack of syllabi and logging onto the computer, she busied herself during the last remaining open moments on fiddling with the projector and pushing strands of loose hair. Still, no matter how hard she tried, Coulson’s proposition lingered at the front of her thoughts.

 

Looking at her watch, she sighed, her deliberation over what Coulson had said would have to wait. Class was about to begin.

 

The next hour and fifteen minutes went off without a hitch. Unlike some professors who preferred to ease their students back into the semester with the usual “Syllabus Day,” Jemma knew that she simply had too much she wanted to cover in one semester to waste time going over a paper that all of the students would have access to.

 

She had spent the better part of the start of August preparing for this very lecture, painstakingly preparing her notes on what to cover, potential questions that would be asked of her, and her, quite brilliant if you ask her, presentation. With only ten minutes left to go, Jemma was optimistic about her first class of the semester. Her students had been engaged, no one had fallen asleep, and the questions she was getting were quite thoughtful. If the rest of the semester were to follow this, she was sure it was going to be an excellent sixteen weeks.

 

Before she knew it, time was up and the students, as brilliant and eager as they were, quickly began packing up their belongings and marching out the door. A sense of satisfaction filled her bones as she herself began packing up her things. So pleased from the positive atmosphere of her lecture, she nearly forgot all about Coulson’s proposal.

 

Marching along the sidewalk with the sun shining warmly down on her, she stopped to grab a cup of tea and a sandwich from the on-campus coffee shop before heading back to her office. Bounding up the stairs and turning down the corridor to her office, she ducked her head for just a moment to find her keys and promptly ran into another body. Letting out a soft squeak as the other person emitted a low grunt, Jemma was prepared to apologize when she looked up and found herself at a loss for words.

 

Blue eyes, _brilliant_ blue eyes, stared back at her as she gaped, feeling like a fish out of water. Finally managing to bring her thoughts out of their haze, she straightened up and began to apologize before she was cut off.

 

“Jemma, good, I see you’ve met Fitz.  We’re going to have a lot to discuss. Do you mind if we use your office?” Coulson, seeming to appear out of nowhere, looked eagerly (albeit a bit nervously) at Jemma.

 

Still confused by her run-in, she simply nodded and pulled out her keys to open the door. Flicking on the lights and entering the room, she quickly deposited the items in her hands and sat down at her desk, the other two occupants sinking down into the two chairs across from her.

 

“So, Dr. Coulson and…” she pandered, realizing she had never actually spoken with the other man.

 

“Fitz, uh, you can call me Fitz,” he said, the Scottish accent that stumbled out only served to pique her interest and curiosity.

 

“Fitz, then. Pleasure to meet you. So, what brings you here today?”

 

“Right! Well, Jemma, you recall our discussion earlier today?” Coulson’s clear nerves about their morning conversation were only accentuated by the slight bugging of his eyes through his black-rimmed glasses. Now more hesitant about the mysterious Fitz, she slowly nodded her head, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “Well, Mr. Fitz here is the reporter from SHIELD Magazine, the one doing the story on you.”

 

Polite smile faltering completely, Jemma turned to face Coulson directly and cleared her throat before beginning. “I’m sorry, but Dr. Coulson, might we have one moment alone?” Turning towards Fitz, “I don’t mean to be rude, I just need a quick moment alone with Dr. Coulson and I’m sure we can all sort through this in a moment.” She flashed her most endearing smile towards the man before straightening her features and turning toward Coulson once more.

 

Skipping the reply, Fitz quickly got up and strode out of the room, the door slamming with quite a bit of force.

 

Ensuring that the man was completely out of the room, she immediately began preparing to scold Coulson for springing this on her, when he quickly cut her off before she could even begin.

 

“Jemma, before you politely yell at me, I just want to apologize. I wasn’t aware that Melinda would be sending Fitz over today, I’m just as surprised as you are. Now, I know I told you to think this over, and I want to emphasize that I will support you no matter your decision, but Jemma…” he pandered off, a soft sigh escaping his lips.

 

She immediately felt guilty for even almost getting mad, when she knew how much pressure Coulson was under. Knowing how much he had done for her, how he fought to bring her on, she knew how much this deal would help. Sighing, she looked up at Coulson and softly spoke out, “It’s okay. Tell me the deal again.”

 

Smiling at her in relief, Coulson looked up at her and pulled out some papers she hadn’t realized he had been carrying. “Melinda May, the Chief Editor over at SHIELD Magazine wants to do a piece on you and your latest book. Apparently your book will be on the ‘In’ list for next year, and they think readers will really love to hear more about you and your writing process.”

 

Sighing and nodding at Coulson to continue, Jemma carefully picked up one of the documents, listening as Coulson started back up. “Melinda will, well I guess did, send over her best writer, Fitz. If you agree, Fitz will spend the next several weeks basically shadowing you around campus and any place you might decide to write. At the end, you’ll do a photoshoot for the cover and story. I’ve asked Melinda to tell him to be as unnoticeable as possible, but he will have questions for you from time to time. If you ever feel uncomfortable around him, let me know and I’ll...beat him up!” Finally cracking a smile, Jemma looked up at Coulson. His warm eyes and kind smile never failed to remind her how thankful she was for him. Her surrogate father and mentor throughout her time spent getting her degrees was something she would always remember and vowed to try and repay him for all that he did for her.

 

“Alright,” she replied, her voice still a bit shaky. Letting someone into her life would be a big step for her. A private person by nature, she had never been able to get comfortable with the fame that had come from writing not one, but two best selling novels. And now, not only was she about to share her life with millions of readers, she’d have to get comfortable with those piercing blue eyes and that unnervingly attractive accent. Combined with her bad past experience with reporters, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes to collect her thoughts. “I have one condition, though.” Nodding for her to continue, Jemma looked up and tried to smile at Coulson. “No night visits, strictly during the day. We’ll not be having another Grant incident!”

 

Leaning forward and capturing her hand, Coulson looked at Jemma and in a serious tone spoke, “Jemma, I promise you, I will _never_ let that happen again. I…” trailing off and looking out the window, he cleared his throat and looked at her again. “I shouldn’t have let that... _monster_ try to ruin you like he did, but I promise,” squeezing her hand, “I promise you, Jemma, if the university wasn’t practically forcing me to have you do this...anyways, I will not let that happen again. You have my word.”

 

Knowing he meant every word, Jemma smiled at Coulson and squeezed his hand back. “Well, then. I suppose we shouldn’t keep Mr. Fitz waiting any longer?”

 

“Yes, right, of course! Let me go get him.” Standing up and brushing off several specs of invisible lint, Coulson stood up and walked out to get Fitz. Several moments later, he came back in, his face scrunched in confusion. “Hm, I couldn’t find him. I guess…” popping his head out her door one last time, “I guess he left? I’ll call Melinda and formally set up a meeting for us to meet.” Pulling out his phone, his body halfway out the door, he stopped and turned towards her desk. “Jemma, I just want to thank you. I know how much you dislike reporters, hell, I hate them for you, but I know you know how this was basically out of my hands and yet you’re still willing to do this all. Thank you, I really appreciate it.”

 

Smiling up at him, “Dr. Coulson, I mean Phil, anything to help you!” Giving her one last wink, he pulled his phone up to his ear and gave her a quick wave goodbye. When the door clicked shut, Jemma leaned back in her seat, brought her arm across her eyes, and let out a deep sigh.

 

These next few weeks were sure to be interesting, the thought of spending that much time with this Fitz character made her stomach flutter with nerves. Checking the time, she picked up her phone and dialed Bobbi’s extension.

 

“Dr. Morse speaking.”

 

“Hello, Dr. Morse,” Jemma laughed out.

 

“Ugh, Jemma, I should have looked at the number. What’s up?”

 

“Do you have any classes tonight?” Jemma looked around her desk and picked up a stray pencil and bounced it up and down against the hard wooden surface top.

 

“No, thankfully all done for the day. Day one and these kids are already behind. Can’t follow simple instructions,” Jemma could practically hear Bobbi’s eye roll through the phone.

 

“Oh, dear. Well, then, how does junk food and movies sound? My place?”

 

“Junk food. You alright, Simmons?” The concern seeping into Bobbi’s tone made Jemma smile.

 

“Well…” Jemma trailed off. Taking a deep breath, “I could use a distraction tonight.”

 

“Then I’m happy to be a distraction. You sure you’re okay? Need me to come over to your office now?”

 

Jemma smiled, thankful she had such wonderful people in her life. “No, no. I’m fine. Just a bit tired, I suppose. What time works for you? Six?”

 

“That’s fine. I’ll bring something to drink. Jemma...you sure you’re okay?”

 

Suddenly fearing she may burst into tears, Jemma quickly replied, “We’ll talk when you get to my place. Yeah? See you at six! Goodbye!” Hanging up after Bobbi’s confused _bye_ , she took a deep breath. Stacking her pens, paper, and laptop into her bag, she threw away the now cold tea and sandwich before standing up and quickly walking out of her office.

 

Stopping by the grocery store on her way home, she picked up more junk food than she was sure her and Bobbi could ever finish and headed home, her head buzzing with thoughts of her talk with Coulson and those blue eyes.

 

Once home, she changed into comfier clothes, preheated the oven for the pizza she had bought, and checked her emails. Already she had several questions from students, a handful of staff emails, one in particular from Coulson.

 

_From: “Phil Coulson” <Pcoulson@mcu.edu> To: “Jemma Simmons” <Jsimmons@mcu.edu>_

_Monday, 5:15 PM_

_Subject: SHIELD Meeting_

 

_Jemma,_

_I talked with Melinda May this afternoon and, if you’re available, we’d like to set up a meeting on Wednesday with Fitz to go over the finer details. Let me know your availability and I’ll coordinate the rest._

_Melinda also gave me Fitz’s number for you, told me to tell you that you are free to contact Fitz to get to know him better - (318) 555-3489._

_Thanks,_

_Phil_

 

Typing back a quick reply that she was available, she pulled out her phone and opened her contacts. Finger hovering over the “+” new button, she huffed and clicked on it.

 

Adding in his number and quickly shutting out the app, she squeaked when the buzzer went off alerting her that the oven was ready. Not long after putting the pizza in the oven did the doorbell ring. Checking through the peephole only to see Bobbi’s long blonde curls, she opened the door and let her friend in.

 

Giving her a quick hug, the two girls began their much needed night in.

 

Two movies, three slices of pizza, and several large glasses of wine later, Jemma was feeling loose and carefree, the events from earlier in the day long forgotten. That is until Bobbi decided to bring things up.

 

“So, Jemma ‘Never Eats Junk Food’ Simmons, why did you invite me over. Not that I mind just...are you okay, Jemma?”

 

Suddenly feeling much more clear headed, the sincere concern in Bobbi’s eyes sobering her up, Jemma swallowed before daring to confess the barrage of emotions she was feeling.

 

“Did...did Lance ever bring up the name Grant Ward?” Looking up as Bobbi suddenly went completely rigid, Jemma sighed, thankful that Bobbi at least seemed to have some sort of knowledge on the situation.

 

“He may have mentioned it in passing,” she shrugged.

 

“I bet he did,” Jemma chuckled humorlessly. Taking a deep breath, she looked up at Bobbi—a reassuring smile cracking her face—and began her story. “After my first book, Dr. Coulson suggested that I try to do as much press as possible in order to get the word out about my book. He was so proud of me, I think we both may have been a little overexcited. And…that’s how Grant Ward got his interview with me. At first it was like any other interview. Grant was a little...intense, but nothing alarming or anything like that.” Laughing bitterly, she felt a wetness form on her face just as Bobbi’s hand gave hers a gentle squeeze. “Anyways, the interview was over with and life moved on. But then I began getting calls at odd hours of the day, and every once in awhile, I got the feeling that someone was watching me. And then things took a turn for the worse. Roses, tons of roses started showing up at my apartment. When I contacted the company, they just told me that the seller wished to remain anonymous, said it was some sort of secret admirer thing.”

 

Voice wavering, Jemma took a moment to gather her nerves. “One night I was walking to my car after a late night on campus when Grant Ward approached me in the parking lot. Told me he had something to show me. Of course I didn’t want to be rude, so I went with him, like an idiot. Ward pushed me in and threw a book at me. A book! He told me that he and his boss, a Mr. Garrett, were big fans and they had written the book and wanted me to look over it. Of course I told him no and, luckily, he hadn’t locked the door and I was able to get to my car and leave.” Brushing off a few wayward tears, Jemma released Bobbi’s hand, only just now realizing how tight she had been squeezing.

 

“Both Ward and Garrett continued to stalk me, trying to get me to read their book. Dr. Coulson felt awful about the whole thing, but he helped me to get those two slimes locked up on stalking charges and Ward attempted kidnapping. As you can tell, I’m not very fond of reporters.”

 

“Did you have to give another interview today?” Bobbi asked, a mask of anger and sadness breaking the smile she gave Jemma.

 

“No, not exactly. Dr. Coulson, _Phil_ ,” they both laughed, “he approached me earlier this morning about a proposal from SHIELD Magazine. It’s not like I need the publicity for this next book, but Coulson...the school is pressuring him into making me do since it’s so good for the university...peaks interest and all that,” she added with a roll of her eyes. “Anyways, they want to send this reporter, Fitz, out to basically shadow me for a little bit, and sure he’s symmetrical and those eyes are quite...something,” she blushed when Bobbi raised an eyebrow at her, “but I’m just, I’m just...scared, Bobbi. I’m scared that I’ll have another Grant incident happen, I’m scared that I’ll share too much and…I’m overreacting, aren’t I?”

 

Bobbi, one of the bravest people Jemma knew, turned towards Jemma and simply raised an eyebrow. “Jemma, you are _not_ overreacting. Trust your instincts. I take it you agreed to doing this extended interview?” Jemma nodded back. “Well, then tell me more about this Fitz. I’m going to need to know everything about him so I can kick his ass if need be.” The two smiled and as Jemma talked through things with Bobbi her nerves finally began to settle a bit. She was still nervous, of course, but knowing that she had people like Bobbi and Coulson on her side made her feel a little bit better.

  
For the rest of the night, the two women indulged in too much junk food and laughed at another round of movies before falling asleep like they were two pre-teens having a weekend slumber party. Jemma’s nerves about re-meeting Fitz on Wednesday could wait until the morning.


	2. Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fitz and Jemma begin the deal for SHIELD Magazine while dangerous and eerily similar crimes begin happening around town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: There is a mention of a murder/crime scene in this chapter, but it's not too gruesome (probably less that what you would find on 'Bones.') It's a relatively noticeable paragraph in italics!
> 
> Thanks again to [overworkedunderwhelmed](http://overworkedunderwhelmed.tumblr.com) for the beta help and the plethora of fun facts I learned about forensic science and other fun things!

Having spent nearly all of Tuesday nursing a hangover and worrying about the meeting made for a rough day of teaching. Jemma could hardly focus during her Wednesday morning class, as she was so nervous for the meeting later that afternoon. Once she noticed she was rambling and her students not much more tuned into the lesson than she, Jemma ended the class early and practically dashed out of the room. Less than an hour later, Jemma sat in Coulson’s office nervously smoothing down the non-existent flyaway strands of hair.

When the door creaked opened after a few minutes had passed, Jemma sat up even straighter. Her heart was beating so fast and loud, she was certain the three other people would hear it. Looking up, she once again found herself dazed by those mesmerizing blue eyes.

“Jemma, glad to see you,” Coulson greeted her, finally snapping her back to reality. “Would any of you like something to drink? Tea, coffee, water?” His pleasantries were a welcome break to the awkward tension that had begun to fill the room. After drinks were handed out and the chairs positioned just so, the four – Coulson, Jemma, Fitz, and an older woman whom Jemma assumed must be Melinda May – hunkered down for a brief but thorough overview. In the limited words that May had spoken, Jemma already felt the knots in her stomach begin to ease, May’s no-nonsense reassurance a welcome gift to Jemma.

For all those few words that May did speak, however, Fitz had mumbled even less. Despite the assurance towards her overall safety, Jemma was certain that the next several weeks spent mainly with Fitz were sure to be horrible. Jemma liked to believe that she was a friendly person, and if she could judge by her positive reviews on Rate My Professor, her assumption was correct. So, for as polite and kind as she had been towards Fitz, his brusque nods and monosyllabic responses convinced her that she had done something to upset him.

Once the meeting finished and Jemma and Fitz’s first formal get-together had been arranged, Jemma returned to her office, her thoughts clouded with confusion and worry about how she and Fitz would be able to work out their differences for the article. She supposed they didn’t need to be friendly towards one another—just respectful—though a small part of her was disappointed by Fitz’s lack of response. She’d have to dwell on that later, though, as the clock on her computer indicated she needed to head over to her class, lest she be late.

Hastily grabbing her materials, she picked up the delicate box that had been placed on the chair by her door and made it to her class with a few minutes to spare.

“Good afternoon, class,” she spoke, her eyes still looking down at her notes for the day. “Today, we’ll be going over how to ma---” she froze mid-word when those strikingly familiar pair of blue eyes locked with her own from the very last chair in the back row. Neither smiling nor frowning, she noticed the nearly imperceptible small nod he gave her.

Trying to slow down her suddenly frantically beating heart and the heat she felt rising in her cheeks, she took a deep breath and looked towards the other students.

“Today, we’ll be going over how to make sure your writing is authentic. And what I mean by authentic is that any outside material you have, any reference to outside fields, should be thoroughly researched. Now, I’m not expecting you to go out and get any extra degrees. Believe me, it can be quite time consuming. But, knowing how to properly research your settings and the characters within these settings can be quite critical in helping your audience to accept the circumstances of the world you are building.”

Her confidence regained, she turned towards the box and slowly opened the lid. Quickly snapping on the gloves she had had tucked away in her bag, she reached in and pulled out the object with care. The skull she had pulled out was smaller, its off white color a clear indication of its preservation. Hearing the excited titters and murmurs rush throughout the room, she was more than a little disappointed at the face Fitz was making. Rather than sharing the excited looks of the students around him, Fitz frowned, all of the color from his face drained. Sighing quietly to herself, she straightened her shoulders and decided that ignoring Fitz would be her best option.

“When I first got into writing, I had two degrees and a million ideas floating in my head just itching to get out. So, to appease these thoughts, I used one degree to write, and the other to teach. English – writing – has always come naturally to me, but forensic anthropology has always been fascinating to me. So, when I start a new novel, a new work, I make sure that every aspect of the crime, the murder scenes, the bone pathology and indications of trauma...every aspect is as accurate and as realistic as possible.” Letting the students finish their notes, she continued. “As I said earlier, getting a whole new degree to ensure accuracy in your writing is not necessary, but diligent research is.”

Looking up at Fitz, she noted that the color had returned to his face and he was staring at her with rapt attention. If she hadn’t known better, she would have assumed he was a student in her class. Feeling the blush return to her cheeks, she cleared her throat and looked out at the class.

“Google is a great resource, but so much of the available information can be entirely too misleading if not outright inaccurate. I find that talking with people who are in the field and are living the research you’re looking for is the ideal way to go.” Continuing the lesson, the students seeming to really enjoy the topic and her own hands-on experiences, she was surprised to find that class time was already over. Rushing, she called out, “Full details on next week’s assignment are in the syllabus, but should you need any clarification or help, please do not hesitate to email or call me. Remember, talking to an actual expert is your best bet. Those that participate in an interview for their source will receive ten points extra credit. See you all next week!”

Gathering her own material and lost in thought, she let out an embarrassingly loud squeak when she heard a clearing throat ring out near her ear. Looking up, she came face to face with the man whom she had been studiously (and failing) ignoring, Fitz, and gave him a polite smile.

“Hello, Fitz, I thought we were going to start this--” she motioned between herself and him only realizing half way through that her gesture could be interpreted as something more than a purely professional relationship. “Our _partnership_ ,” she corrected, “tomorrow?”

Face reddening, Fitz scratched behind his ear and looked up at Jemma. “Yeah, I just, uh...I thought it might be better if I saw you in your class first, no interruptions?”

Finding no fault in his logic, Jemma nodded. “Did you enjoy the class?” For some irrational reason, Jemma found herself hoping that he had in fact enjoyed her class.

“Yeah...yes. I, uh, I really enjoyed it.” Smiling brightly at him, Jemma pulled the strap of her bag up onto her shoulder and reached for her mug of tea. Shaking it, she looked at him and hesitated for just a second before asking him, “Would you care to join me for a cup of tea? I could use a fresh cup after teaching.” She smiled, hopeful that he might say yes.

Grimacing, Fitz replied, “I wish I could, but I have to finish up another article this afternoon.” Shoulders dropping, she tried to mask her disappointment with a bright smile.

“No problem. I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“We, we could maybe get a drink tomorrow?” Fitz asked, his face looking like what Jemma thought might be hopeful. Excited that he had not outright turned her offer down, she nodded her head.

“Yes...I’d like that. Well, I have to get going, cup of tea waiting and all. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah. See you tomorrow.”

Walking out of the room, Jemma smiled, her day suddenly much better knowing that she and Fitz were meeting tomorrow, cups of tea awaiting them.

\---

“How many sugars, or do you not take any? Perhaps honey?” Jemma asked Fitz, her nerves getting the best of her as she accidentally drizzled the honey down the side of her cup rather than into it.

“Four cubes will do,” Fitz replied. Jemma’s eyes widened a bit at the absurd level of sweetness, but dropped four of the sparkling cubes into the cup, enjoying the way they began to dissolve.

“Milk?”

“Just a dash.” Watching the dark brown color turn a deep beige, Jemma stirred the tea and handed it back to Fitz. Taking a sip, Fitz sighed at the perfect concoction.

“So,” Jemma began, “how should we start? Did you want me to sit down? Are you going to record this?” Suddenly her nerves spiked, the idea of being recorded made her palms break out in a sweat.

“No,” Fitz casually replied, his mind still occupied by Jemma’s tea. “Uh, just go about your day, and I’ll try to stay out of the way. If I have any questions, I’ll ask.” Surprised by the kind smile that adorned his face, Jemma felt herself relax as she nodded her head in understanding.

As it turned out, having Fitz as her shadow was not as horrible as she imagined. In fact as the hours ticked away, she found she quite enjoyed his presence.

 

\---

After only a few days, they fell into a routine. She would arrive to her office at 7:30am on the dot, hang her things, open her laptop, check her emails and begin to prepare for the day. By 8:30am (save for Wednesdays, she had class at 8), he would stroll in – usually yawning – and hand her the perfect cup of tea. She would finish up her morning to-dos, he’d doze for thirty more minutes, and then the questions would come.

Sometimes they were simple questions, “What’s your favorite color, Simmons?”

“Blue,” she replied without hesitation.

Other times, she would have to pause and really think before responding.

“If you were a character in your book, how would you describe yourself?”

“Quiet...but kind? And intelligent, I suppose.”

“Huh.”

“What?” she replied incredulously.

“Nothing, just, not how I would have described you is all,” he said, his shoulders shrugging.

“Well then, Fitz, how would you have described me?”

“Dunno, just not that way is all.” But later, when he got to his apartment and sat on his couch opening his notebook with one hand and eating the sandwich she had made him, he jotted out: Jemma Simmons - Amazing, Brilliant, Beautiful. After looking over the list for a long moment, he promptly tore out the sheet, crumpled it, and threw it in the wastebin fearing she might accidentally see it.

Their routine was simple, nice, and after some time, Jemma found it all to be quite comforting. She loved how easy it was to go from rapid-fire questions, to complete and easy silence. She liked bouncing ideas off him, and his ability to answer just as easily.

She found that she enjoyed the little clumps of candy wrappers he would dump in her waste basket at the end of his visits and the way he smiled at her as he stepped out the door, his quiet “See you tomorrow, Simmons” both comforting and sweet.

One day as they were driving off campus to get some lunch, Fitz deciding to drive, Jemma looked over at him and smiled. He looked so carefree, his glasses making him look both smart and handsome. Sometime over their weeks together, Jemma noted how truly attractive he was, though his blue eyes were most definitely his defining feature.

“Alright, so let me get this straight. In _Bone Voyage_ , which is still such a cheesy name to me, the murderer, the Gravedigger, again, cheesy, she actually tried to kill Pepper and Bruce by burying them alive in a car that was stuck in the middle of a sand pit?”

“Yes, I received quite a few letters telling me how that was their favorite part. No the murder, not the cool high-tech gear, or the love between Pepper and Tony. They liked the big car scene. Apparently the friendship between Pepper and Bruce was quite the nice surprise to readers.”

“And in this world of yours, they're from a town based off of here?” he prodded further.

“That’s correct.”

“Well, wouldn’t it have just been easier for the Gravedigger to hack into Pepper and Bruce’s navigation system when they were driving through Loki Park? The signals are shoddy there anyways, so they wouldn’t have suspected anything, and the paved road there doesn’t last for very long before it becomes a dirt road. Real easy to get lost in there. A whole crew of men disappeared back in there back in the late 1800s, their bodies found years after they died.”

Not the first time since meeting him did Fitz’s random historical knowledge cease to amaze her. Realizing she had been gawking at him, she closed her mouth and simply nodded. He was quite the enigma to her, a puzzle she had yet to solve.

Several questions later, she looked over at him curiously.

“Fitz?” she called out.

“Hm?”

“You’re always asking questions but never writing anything down.” It was an odd habit of his, one that added to the mystery surrounding him.

“Don’t need to, got it all up here,” he replied, tapping his head.

 

Somewhat in disbelief, somewhat finding it endearing, Jemma smiled and leaned back in her seat.

 

In truth, however, Fitz did not have _that_ good of a memory. Each day after they met, he would rush home and write in as much detail as possible all of the things he had learned about her.

Like the way she scrunched her nose whenever she found something to be displeasing. Or the way she always stood to the left of the projector and looked each of her students directly in the eyes, her care for their education always a priority. Sometimes he would even write down how he found that at 4:00pm, as the sun began to fade, the light from her window in her office would shine through the window just so, and that her hair would catch the light and cast an almost halo-like ring around her head.

Other notes included her displeasure for any form of press coverage (she complained to him the whole way over to her shoot and complained the whole way back to her apartment) and how _If they’re going to ask me to these shoots, Fitz, the least they could do is provide a decent cup of tea. Honestly!_

Fitz, despite all his best efforts to stay neutral and to keep himself focused on his task, found himself falling for the girl – a girl he thought he had no chance with.

\---

Scrunching her eyes closed even tighter, Jemma groaned when another knock at the door came for what seemed like the millionth time that morning. Sighing, she slowly stood up and reached for her robe draped neatly over the small chair in the corner.

Slowly walking over to the front door and peeking out the hole, she was surprised to find Fitz nervously fidgeting from one foot to the other. Unlocking the lock and pulling open the door, she raised her eyebrows at Fitz.

 

“Jemma, good, you’re alright!” Fitz replied, his voice panicked.

“Fitz! What are you doing here at this hour? What are you even doing up at this hour?” She looked over to the wall clock and was amazed that Fitz, the most anti-morning person she knew, was standing outside her door at 5:30 in the morning.

“Jemma, have you see the news yet?”

“No, of course not! I was sleeping!” Jemma chastised him. “Why? What’s the matter? Did something bad happen?”

“Jemma, turn on the news now.” Fitz replied, the panic still evident in his voice. Pulling open the door and indicating for him to come in, she quickly shut the door after him and shuffled over to her television.

“One moment,” she told him, her own nerves now on edge. When the reporter’s voice finally came through, all of the blood in Jemma’s body ran cold.

_We’re here at the scene of a gruesome murder. Police tell us that they have found the body of an unidentified male. The remains were found in a car that had been submerged under water for at least a week, the arms and legs bound together with red rope. A jogger was out for an early morning run when one of their running lights flashed into the pond and they spotted the car. Police have yet to release the identity of the male. We’ll keep you updated with any new information on-air and online. For KMCE News Channel Five, I’m Aida Robertson._

Not realizing how much she was shaking, Jemma jumped when the remote slipped from her hands and dropped to the floor. In an instant, Fitz was by her side and, cautiously, his arms hovered around her before enveloping her in a hug. Feeling his warm and comforting arms around her, her body collapsed into his. Struggling for a moment before pulling them both to the couch, he held her and let her cry until there were no more tears, only soft whimpers.

“Fitz,” she croaked out quietly. “It’s happening again, isn’t it?” Not certain he could talk without his own voice cracking, he simply nodded.

The first time it had happened (one week into their newly established routine), Jemma had pointedly looked at Fitz and told him that coincidences like this happened all of the time, no need to worry. The second time it had happened, Jemma had been uneasy, nervous, and bit harsh. Snapping at Fitz, she asked him how this was her fault, knowing full well that none of the deaths would have happened without her.

Someone, some horrible, evil person was out there using her books as source material for real-life murder. Her passion for writing mysterious was now becoming actual horror material, all at the expense of two, now three, innocent people.

Staring blankly at the television, her focus zeroed in on the details scrolling at the bottom. Reading through the words, another tear fell down her face as detail by detail began to match up exactly to the details of her book.

Same car, same position, same red rope. It was like this person was sending a message directly to her, the poor victims the pen, their blood the ink.

Clutching onto Fitz, she rolled her head into his chest and took a deep breath. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she scolded herself for getting so close to him, for allowing her foolish feelings to clutch onto him. The deep shame and anger at what was happening, however, was stronger and only served to fuel her desire to shift herself closer to Fitz. Feeling his fingers tracing soothing circles onto her back, Jemma selfishly leaned into the comfort he’d offered. It was only sometime later that she forced herself to put some distance between herself and him.

Looking over at Fitz, her hand still entwined with his, she sighed and closed her eyes. Leaning her head against his shoulder, she whispered, “Fitz, what I am going to do?”

Taking a deep breath of his own, Fitz squeezed her hand. “I...I don’t know, Jemma. And I’m sorry I don’t have anything better to say. But, I promise you, I won’t let you go through this alone. We’ll find a way to fix this...together.” He spoke with such conviction, such pure belief that they would somehow fix their way out of this dreadful situation, that Jemma believed him. For a long while they sat like that, her head on his shoulder, his hand rubbing soothing circles against hers as the TV played silently in the background.

 

As a heavy downpour suddenly began to fall, a grayness covering the room, Fitz looked down at Jemma. Her cheeks were covered in streaks of half-dried tears, the horror of these now very real murders making her look defeated and small. He knew then that no matter what the cost, he would do anything he could to help her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm also over on [Tumblr](http://ughfitz.tumblr.com)!


	3. Part III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After discovering that a killer is using her books as inspiration for several murders, Jemma desperately tries to uncover who is tainting her words. With the help of Fitz, they discover that the killer may just be a blast from the past...but whether they are from her past or Fitz's is the true mystery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well...it hasn't been quite one year since I last updated, but it also wasn't quite the 'ASAP' I was hoping for. This has been written for quite some time, but due to various reasons, I haven't posted this last bit until now ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯. This last portion remains largely unbetaed, so all mistakes are my own! And in case you forgot what happened last (like I did), below is a recap of events:
> 
> Previously on….
> 
> Jemma and Fitz have been working together now for several weeks and are falling into an easy rhythm that might be sparking feelings that are more than that of a working relationship. Just as things are becoming normal, another murder occurs in their town - the third one mirroring the exact details of her books. Uncertain on how to proceed and how she feels about Fitz, one thing she knows for sure is that they’ll sort through the mess together.
> 
>  
> 
> **Note: There is mention of guns, blood, and shooting (similar in level to season four violence). So, if that's not your jam, heads up!

The following Monday when Jemma arrived on campus, she was surprised to find a slew of reporters outside her office.

_Miss Simmons, do you have anything to say about the recent spike in copycat killings?_

_Miss Simmons, can we get a quick interview with you?_

_Miss Simmons! Miss Simmons! Miss Simm--_

It was all getting too overwhelming when, to her great relief, she felt Fitz walkup beside her and hand her a cup of tea. His body blocked the line of recorders being shoved in her face as he pulled them into the building. Once inside, she sighed as her body sagged against the door.

Looking over at Fitz, she let out a small laugh, the irony of the situation just dawning on her.

“What?” He asked her. The confusion etched on his face only served to make Jemma laugh more.

Shaking her head and clearing her throat, she smiled at him. “I just ran away from a bunch of reporters, only to lock myself in a room with one.” They grinned at one another, the adrenaline from their narrow escape slowly trickling out of her.

“How are you doing?” Fitz asked her, his hands fiddling with his own cup of tea.

“Okay,” she replied. He shot her a look, eyebrows raised in disbelief, and Jemma sighed.. “Well, perhaps ‘okay’ is not the most fitting word. It’s just...” she broke off. “I’m getting all these calls, I know everyone on campus knows, and on top of that, I haven’t been able to sleep at all. I’m _horrified_ , Fitz. These deaths, all of them, they’re on me! My incessant need to write everything down has caused people harm! _Real people_ are dead because of _me_!” Setting her cup down, she tried to take a deep breath to steel herself from the onslaught of tears she felt welling in her eyes.

Fitz moved over to her quicker than expected, and she felt him hesitate for just a moment before he tentatively place an arm around her and simply held her. It was in these quiet moments, the ones where neither spoke yet both knew what the other was thinking, that Jemma was once again struck by how perfectly the two of them worked together. They were like puzzle pieces - at a distance, they were an unlikely pair, but upon closer inspection, they connected seamlessly. 

Some time later, and after several reassurances to Fitz that she was indeed doing much better, the two found themselves falling into their typical routine. They worked quietly until, like clockwork, Fitz’s stomach grumbled loudly at noon. As they were preparing to leave for lunch, three quick raps sounded from the other side of the door.

Opening it, Jemma was surprised to find Bobbi standing on the other side. Seeing Bobbi wasn’t necessarily out of the ordinary, but the worried expression on her face definitely was..

“Bobbi! I wasn’t expecting you. Please, come in.”

Fitz, having acquainted himself with the other woman in the recent weeks, simply smiled at her and stepped aside.

“Jemma, did you see the news?” Feeling her stomach plummet to the floor, Jemma shook her head and turned towards her computer. Clicking open the local news station’s homepage, she saw a headline that made her vision blur with hot tears.

“No!” The word came out broken and anguished. Seeing the headline for the fourth time filled her with horror - the most chilling kind of déjà vu. “No, no, no! This can’t be happening,” she whispered.

It hadn’t even been a full week since the last killing, and it seemed the killer was getting more desperate for attention. Slamming her hands on her desk, Jemma barely even registered Bobbi rushing over to grab the falling cup of tea.

“Fitz,” Bobbi looked over to him, “do you mind if I have a word with Jemma for a moment?” With an understanding nod, he turned to look at Jemma for just a moment - concern etched on his face - before he slipped out the door.

“Hey,” Bobbi  said softly, her hand coming to rest on Jemma’s back. “Look at me.” Her words were kind but held enough authority to let Jemma know Bobbi wasn’t about to let her hide away from this. “I know how your mind works, Jemma. And this,” she said as she pointed at the screen, “this is not your fault. These murders are _not_ your fault. Someone took your work and twisted it to fit their sick scheme. You hear me?”

Sniffling, Jemma nodded in response before leaning into Bobbi.  They stayed that way for a moment before a soft knock from outside of the room. “Come in,” Jemma called out.

Poking his head into the room, Fitz looked at her and Jemma noticed a flash of worry cloud his eyes. “I was going to get some lunch, figured you might want to avoid the reporters out there, do you want anything?” His face flushed slightly as he mumbled the offer but his sincerity warmed her heart.

“Maybe some soup, nothing heavy. Thank you Fitz...for everything.”

“Not a big deal,” he replied.

Jemma let her gaze linger on the door for a moment before turning back to Bobbi. The smug look on her friend’s face made Jemma blush, which she tried to hide by rolling her eyes. “What?” she asked.

“Nothing...nothing at all” Bobbi replied, though her knowing smirk said otherwise. If it weren’t for the current situation, Jemma was certain Bobbi would have pressed her further.

\---

The next several days passed by in a blur. The nonstop whirlwind of reporters and questions was clearly starting to weigh Jemma down, both emotionally and physically. Thankfully, for both her sanity and comfort, Fitz was around almost constantly. Although his reporting was technically still the reason he was around, hardly any time was devoted to writing the story as he did everything in his power to make her life easier.

During the days, Fitz helped her with her planning for classes (if she didn’t know better, Jemma would have assumed he was a professor himself, with his wealth of knowledge and his uncanny ability to understand her students). Sometimes he even offered his opinions to her classes, something both she and her students appreciated.

During the evenings, Fitz would come over to her place and they would pore over the news to see if they could find anything, only to be met with one dead end after another. Inevitably, they would get too bogged down by the research and the horror that they found themselves to exhausting to continue. When that happened, they would head to her coach, eat leftovers, and watch whatever mindless show they could find. It was all very domestic, something Jemma both relished and chose to ignore. There were more pressing things in life going on than to fuss over her nonexistent romantic relationship with her own personal reporter.

On a rare afternoon when Fitz wasn’t hunkered down in her office, Jemma took the opportunity to dig around for more information on the murders. Aside from all of them being related to her past books, something else felt oddly familiar about each of them, though she couldn’t put her finger on what it was.

Lost in thought she barely heard the knock at the door and jumped when Bobbi walked into the room.

“Oh, Bobbi, you scared me!”

“Sorry,” Bobbi replied, pacing around the office. Jemma looked at her curiously.

“Is everything alright?”

“Jemma, we have a new lead on the murders. And it’s not good…” she trailed of. “For Fitz.”

Jemma’s stomach dropped as she let all of the papers she was holding fall to the floor. “What?” she whispered in confusion.

“Fury over at the station thinks it might be Fitz’s estranged father, Holden Radcliffe. Was briefly married to Linda Fitz back in ‘87. Has Fitz ever said anything to you about him?”

Swallowing and trying to process it all, Jemma shook her head. “No, I mean just a little in passing, but nothing much. Why...why do they think it’s him?”

“They said it fit some of his patterns of the early jobs his did back in the day. Jemma…” Bobbi closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I need to warn you, they think that Fitz might be helping.”

“What?! That’s impossible, Fitz would…” Jemma struggled to catch her breath, “Fitz would _never_ do that.” She looked at Bobbi imploringly, tears filling her eyes, and tried to calm herself. “I trust Fitz with my life, and I know he...I know he would never do that. You have to believe me, Bobbi.”

Smiling, Bobbi looked at Jemma. “That’s why I came here, Jemma. _I_ believe you, and I know Fitz, too. I know he wouldn’t do that. I’ve been doing some digging on my own, as I know you have, and I think Fitz might be at risk. I don’t know if Fitz’s father is the one at fault, but I do think both you and Fitz are in danger. I just needed to warn you, Jemma. Please be careful.”

Nodding, Jemma smiled weakly up at Bobbi. “Thank you...for everything.” Her mind was swimming. She didn’t know how to proceed, didn’t know what the next few days would hold, didn’t know what she could possibly do to help. Despite all her uncertainty, she knew for a fact that Fitz was in danger and that was enough to push her to get through whatever mess was coming.

\---

Wringing her hands, Jemma paced around her tiny kitchen.

“Jemma, are you sure you’re okay?” Fitz asked as he looked up from his laptop.

“Fitz, I think…” she broke off and looked out the window. It was one thing to think of herself as the target of a deranged murderer and needing to be cooped up in her house, but to try and involve Fitz was a completely other item to tackle. Sighing, she took a deep breath before she spewed out a “youshouldcomeandstayhereforthetimebeing.” Having already told him what Bobbi told her, and both of them expressing their frustrations over the department’s suspicious, the air between them was a little tense, reminding her of their first few days together. Still, they were around one another constantly and she would prefer being cooped up with Fitz rather than be apart.

“What?” Fitz asked a bit dazed. “I’m not sure I heard you correctly.”

Taking another deep breath, she looked him straight on. “Fitz, I think you should come and stay with me. If it’s true that you really are in danger and your father is looking for you, then it would only make sense for you to stay here. I have the police detail each night, the security, everything. I just...I just want you to be safe. I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if something happened to you. You,” she paused, “you mean to much to me. I couldn’t live in a world that doesn't have you in it.” Looking up at him in earnest, she smiled and reached for his hand.

Stepping forward, he smiled back at her. “Really?”

Laughing, she shook her head at his surprise. “Of course, Fitz.”

“Well...I feel the same.” The declaration was a relief to both of them, the tension that had been building between the two over the last two stressful days, quickly evaporating.

“So…” she trailed off. “You’ll stay?”

Nodding his head slightly, “Only if you’re certain it’s okay.” Once she had assured Fitz of her certainty, he left for a bit to gather some items for his stay, before rushing back to Jemma’s place. 

Perhaps nothing had been definitively established between the two of them, but Jemma, and Fitz she assumed as well, finally felt a little bit of peace. And for now, that was enough. 

Later that night after eating their leftovers and piling up on a mound of pillows and blankets, the two of them settled down on the floor, the space between the two almost nonexistent.

Turning towards him, his face lighting up in a parade of colors from the overhead blinking lights she had strung up around the house a few weeks ago, she smiled and twisted until she lay on her stomach propped up by her elbows. He turned his face towards hers and smiled just as brightly.

"Fitz," she began and hesitated for a moment, "why...why are you a reporter? You are so incredibly smart, you know so much history, and yet you're working at a magazine writing pieces I know you don't want to write."

Sighing, Fitz closed his eyes and crossed his hands across his stomach. Moments passed, the only sound their breathing and the ticking of the clock. Fearing she had mucked things up, she was about to tell him to forget it, when he broke the silence. 

“When I was young, my father got mixed up in the wrong crowd, I guess you could say. And one day he just up and disappeared. Never knew what happened, no notes or anything, and the police could never find him. Anyway, Mum made me promise her that I wouldn't let it define me, wouldn't stop me from chasing my dreams. So, for awhile, I kept that promise. Went to university, got my PhD in histo-" 

"What?!" Jemma practically shrieked. "You have a PhD and strung me along this whole time?" 

Smiling briefly at her outburst, he looked at her and shrugged. "I didn't really see how it applied to me working with you and then it sort of just never came up again?" he replied, though it came out more as a question than anything. Shaking her head in disbelief, she was quiet for a moment before looking over and smirking at him. 

"Dr. Fitz...has a nice ring to it. Although, Professor Fitz sounds pretty nice as well," she teased, though if she were being honest with herself, having him at work permanently was something that had crept into her thoughts more than once in the past few weeks. "Fitz," she whispered out. "You didn't answer my question. Why are you still doing the reporter gig?" 

Scratching at his ear, a nervous tick of his Jemma had discovered, he replied, "It wasn't supposed to be permanent. When the lead came through that my dad might still be alive, the police really weren't listening to me, kept blowing me off. So I saw an ad for a position at the local paper, thought the police might be more willing to listen to me there. They did, for a little while, but by the time they fully lost interest, the position just sort of stuck. Decent pay, okay hours. And then May called and I've been doing it ever since." 

It was silent for a long while before Jemma whispered, her voice sounding too loud in the quiet room, "If you wanted, I know you could do so much more...you’re so smart." Reaching out for his hand, she wrapped her fingers around his and gave them a squeeze. 

"Thanks, Jemma." Sucking in a quiet breathe, Jemma froze, her first name sounding so strangely beautiful and _right_ falling from his lips, that she nearly asked him to say it again. Luckily he spoke before she could make a fool of herself.  

"What made you become a writer? A professor?" Jemma smiled as fond memories filtered through her mind. 

"When I was in primary school, I had a tendency to...exaggerate situations. I had this teacher, Ms. Carter, she was the absolute best. One day, she pulled me aside after class and asked me about the paper I had written. Apparently my rendition of going to France and seeing the _massive_ Mona Lisa in the Louvre over summer break caught her attention. She told me that exaggerating the truth was still lying by omission, and wasn't okay to do. But then she told me that if I ever felt the urge to embellish the situation, I ought to tell the truth and write down the embellishment. And I guess I've been writing down the embellishments ever since. Teaching just sort of fell into my lap, and I love helping others, so I suppose it just...stuck." Jemma shrugged and looked over at Fitz. The toothy smile he gave her in return sent her stomach fluttering, a light blush blooming across her cheeks.   

Looking at him, the lights shining down, his face lit up all on its own from his brilliant smile, Jemma wanted to freeze the moment and frame it. Not realizing she had moved closer to him, she gasped when her nose bumped into his. Caught in the moment, perhaps propelled by the magic of the twinkling lights (at least that’s what she tried to tell herself), she leaned forward, her lips millimeters away from his. Closing her eyes shut, she felt the faint touch of his skin on hers when, suddenly, a loud noise shattered the silence.

Yelling out in pain, Jemma's eyes flew open and took in the scene before her. Fitz, brilliant and amazing Fitz, lay on the floor, face scrunched in pain as his hands clutched near his hip. Feeling something warm on her hand, she looked down and saw a pool of blood beginning to form, her own hand covered in the warm liquid. Suddenly snapping back to reality, Jemma sat up and reached to put pressure on Fitz's bleeding wound.

"Stop!" a voice from behind her called out. "Touch him and I'll shoot him again." Slowly turning herself around, Jemma gasped when she saw the man and his gun pointing down at her.

"John Garrett?" She asked, wishing her voice would stop shaking and revealing how truly terrified she was. 

"Professor Simmons, so glad you remembered me! Did you see the gifts I left for you?" Her stomach churned when she realized he meant the murders.

Looking up, she glared with all the disgust she could muster. "Those were no gifts," she spat out. "What are you doing out? You and Grant were supposed to be locked up for at least seven more years, no contact with me."

"Got out on good behavior, judge thought I deserved a break. Grant, poor kid, so angry, constantly getting into fights, couldn’t ever seem to catch a break. But it's great, Dr. Simmons, my release means I can finally show you my work. My work outside of my gifts for you, of course." Recoiling once more, Jemma twisted towards Fitz when she heard him moan in pain.

"Not another move, Dr. Simmons. Otherwise, I shoot him. Let me show you my work and then you can help him."

Realizing she was of no help to Fitz if she didn't follow through, she looked at Garrett and motioned for him to continue. 

"It's my book, Dr. Simmons. I finished it, and I want you to take a look at it. I even dedicated it to you."

"Mr. Garrett, like I told you that last time you tried to get me to read your book, I can't and I _won't_ help you. You need to leave me alone, I need to help Fitz."

"No!" he roared chucking the thick stack of loosely bound papers towards her. "I let you slip away last time all because Grant couldn't do his job, couldn't fake the whole reporter thing. I'm not about to let him," he nodded towards Fitz, "get in the way." Raising his gun, finger ready to pull, the door suddenly slammed open and a thin, older gentleman ran though.

Bullets whizzing through the air, Jemma flung herself over Fitz to shield him from the onslaught of chaos and danger above them. Clutching him tightly, she was so scared, she didn't even realize the fight was over. Jumping when she felt a hand on her back, she finally looked up when she heard a vaguely familiar voice tell her it was okay. Confused, she studied the man and gasped when she saw the similarities.

"Jemma, right?" he asked her.  Not able to speak, she simply nodded. "I'm with the police and I'm here to help. Do you mind if I take a look at Fitz’s injuries?" Still shocked by the man's familiar features, she nodded and moved aside, her hand somehow still holding Fitz's in a tight grip. "Son, son, can you hear me?"

Finally looking up, blue eyes met blue eyes, both instantly pooling with tears.

"Dad?" Fitz asked. "Either I've lost too much blood, or..." he trailed off.

"Oh, my boy!" the man cried out. Leaning forward he hugged Fitz as best he could from the awkward position he sat in, and began crying. A stream of apologies fell from his lips, Jemma's own tears flowing just as freely.

Some time later, a group of officers, Bobbi at the helm, burst into the room and took away John Garrett like the trash he was. As it was later revealed, Holden Radcliffe had never been working  with the “wrong crowd,” he was actually a police officer deep undercover and had left his wife and son to save them from the dangerous group he had been hoping to bring down. In all his years since his disappearance, he had never stopped protecting his wife and son from the nefarious group. His love for his family was strong and everlasting. Therefore, it was no surprise that it had been him who had tracked down Garrett and prevented him from further hurting either Fitz or Jemma, though he repeatedly told Jemma how impressed he was with the way she stood up to Garrett. It was clear that Radcliffe cared deeply for not only Fitz’s safety, but Jemma’s as well - a gesture she was extremely grateful for.   

Hours later, Jemma sat in an uncomfortable hospital chair next to Fitz and looked up from her phone when she heard her name being softly called out. 

"Hey, be careful or you'll pull out your IV," she mildly scolded him.

"Yes, doctor," he teased back.

Leaning over him, she cupped his face and smiled. "Not that kind."

"Wouldn't mind if you were," he smiled. "Though I don't think..." he paused for a moment, "I don't think doctors are allowed to kiss their patients? So I think, if it's alright with you, I'll stick with you being the best-selling author and professor extraordinaire, Jemma Simmons."

Smiling so wide she was afraid her face might crack, she leaned her forehead against his and nodded. "I'm okay with that - on both counts." Pulling back ever so slightly, she looked down at him and nearly cried tears of joy when their lips finally met. Soft at first, their kisses became more heated, until Jemma heard the fast beeps of the heart rate monitor. Slowing things down, a peck or two slipping out, Jemma chuckled and finally pulled back all the way. Hand still on his cheek, she smiled once more, loving that his smile was just as wide as hers. "Not bad, Professor Fitz, not bad at all."

* * *

**New Book, New Look!**

Daisy Johnson

She’s back! Noted author and professor, Jemma Simmons is back at it with another whodunit murder mystery novel and we couldn’t be more excited! Despite her busy schedule, we managed to snag a few minutes with this amazing women. Read on for more:

> _DJ: This is your fourth novel (thank you)! How do you keep coming up with the ideas?_
> 
> _JS: [Laughs] Honestly, sometimes I’m not even certain. I definitely know that I am always inspired by those around me and the different characters and personalities I encounter._
> 
> _DJ: So, are you saying that the events in your book happen in real life?_
> 
> _JS: No, not all of the moments._
> 
> _DJ: But maybe the ring you’ve got there  is part of it?_
> 
> _[Both laugh]_
> 
> _JS: Yes, the ring...the wedding, those are definitely inspired by real-life events._
> 
> _DJ: Congratulations! That’s really exciting!_
> 
> _JS: I think so!_
> 
> _DJ: So, in your spare time, as if you have any, you’re also an English professor at MCU. How do you find time to balance work and personal life?_
> 
> _JS: I think it’s all about making the time for things and then following through with those plans. My_ _fiancé_ _and I are lucky in that we work at the same university, so we are able to frequently see one another, which is always nice. Outside of work, we have a great group of friends...we like going over to one another’s houses and just hanging out. And then I set times where I work on my stories and make sure I’m ready for my classes._
> 
> _DJ: Still sounds pretty busy! Let’s talk about your latest novel. The main character, Sylvia, she’s quite the brilliant scientist. What do you find most inspiring about her?_
> 
> _JS: I think the thing I find most admirable about her is her genuine kindness and willingness to help others. And she’s beyond brilliant, which I think really adds to her character._
> 
> _DJ: What about her and Aaron’s relationship, does it model after any personal relationships?_
> 
> _JS: [Laughs] I’m surrounded by plenty of happy couples, so I think there’s a little bit of each of them in their relationship!_
> 
> _DJ: Last question, do you have any plans for future books?_
> 
> _JS: I’m always writing. But for now, I think I’m going to enjoy some time off!_  

_-_  

Jemma Simmons’ latest book, _The Rest is History_ , hits shelves on January 12. If we could, we’d give it 6/5 stars. Be sure to pick it up before it sells out, you won’t regret it.

Daisy Johnson  
@daisychain  
djohnson@rtide.com

-

 _The Rest is History_  
Jemma Simmons  
✭✭✭✭✭

Friends since childhood, Sylvia and Aaron leave university ready to conquer the real world. When Aaron begins receiving mysterious letters threatening his life, the duo decide to hunt for the perpetrator themselves. Despite a target on their backs, these best friends continue to dodge all of life’s obstacles, save for love. 

Will they solve the mystery? Will they catch the killer? Will love prevail? For Sylvia and Aaron, murder is easy, it’s love that’s tricky!

  
_The Rest is History_ is available January 12th.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew...it's done! I hope you enjoyed the culmination to this Bones inspired AU. I love both worlds, so it was fun mixing the two to (hopefully) fulfill Rabbit's lovely prompt. 
> 
> To Rabbit, I hope you enjoyed this, as well as that little shoutout to some of my favorite characters ;)
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, comments and kudos are always appreciated! Want to chat? Find me over on [Tumblr](http://ughfitz.tumblr.com/)!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading/commenting/kudos, they all sincerely make my day!
> 
> I'm also over on [Tumblr](http://ughfitz.tumblr.com/), feel free to come and chat!
> 
> \--
> 
> I hope to have the rest finished ASAP, thanks for being patient!


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